


Dulce et Utile

by Soul_in_the_Starlight



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 01:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soul_in_the_Starlight/pseuds/Soul_in_the_Starlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dulce et utile - a sweet and useful thing"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dulce et Utile

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following prompt at bondkink on Livejournal:
> 
> "Kinnear!Tanner/Craig!Bond; anything with Bill caring for or being protective of James. Like him tending to Bond's wounds after a particularly nasty mission because he knows Bond won't do it."

Bond lay on his back, on the bed where he had crashed as soon as he arrived back at his flat. The Korean mission had been horrific, and the debriefing after the fact had been its own special kind of hell, with accusations and recriminations, and threats of suspension. If it hadn't been for Tanner intervening, reminding M that Bond had been through enough, he'd still be there now.

He lay fully clothed in the fatigues he'd been picked up in, no offer of a shower, medical assistance, or even a sympathetic look from M had been forthcoming. Tanner had asked him if he was hurt, but Bond had brushed off his concern, hiding the flare burn that ran the length of his right arm, up his sleeve, the cuts and bruises on his face apparently collateral damage in M's furious eyes. Bond had freed the hostages, but at the cost of an American agent. Anglo-American relations apparently took precedence over the bullet hole in Bond's left calf. He'd not given her the satisfaction of limping in or out of the debriefing, shrugging off Tanner's gentle, reassuring hand on his shoulder on his way out.

He was exhausted, but couldn't sleep, the pain in his wounds of an intensity he couldn't ignore. He lay there, dirty and bloody, his ego and emotions bruised, as well as his body, the persistent ticking of the clock like a repetitive mallet to his frazzled brain, in the deathly quiet of his sparsely furnished flat. 

The door bell rang.

Bond didn't move, he didn't care to know who it was. It was after 9 o'clock, anyone ringing the bell at that late hour could bloody well sod off. 

The bell rang again. Bond resisted the urge to shout abuse at the unwanted visitor, that would have alerted them to his presence. If he didn't answer, they'd give up and go away.

The silence settled heavily over the flat again. Bond could feel the burnt flesh on his arm start to throb.

He was starting to drift away from reality, the exhaustion finally claiming him, but then he heard a click and a creak from the hallway, and realized the door to his flat had been opened. There had been no sound of smashing glass or battering at the hinges, so he assumed the intruder had either picked the lock or had a key. He didn't care which, he just wanted to sleep; if they killed him in his bed, so much the better.

The sound of the front door closing led him to conclude that the visitor was from MI6, a hostile intruder wouldn't have bothered closing their means of entry so carefully. If it was M come to finish her tirade, then he was afraid she'd get told where to go, and if he could be bothered to move, he'd physically throw her out.

The bedroom door opened softly.

"James? It's Bill."

Bond turned his head away from the door so that Tanner couldn't see the pleased smile that was trying to crack its way across his face.

"Are you alright? I'm sorry M was so unforgiving, but that doesn't mean she doesn't care. She felt _awful_ after you left."

Bond wrestled the emotions from his face, turning towards Bill. He opened his eyes, seeing the Chief of Staff leaning awkwardly against the door frame with a large holdall on the floor at his feet.

"Sent you to do her dirty work, did she? Apology by proxy, how _nice_."

Bill picked up the bag and came in to the room.

"Actually, she didn't, I came here off my own back. I have a conscience that pricks, even if she doesn't."

Bond smiled, this wasn't news, and this was why Bill wasn't out in the field; he had a heart.

"Good, you can get me a large Scotch, and then fuck off. Let me feel like shit in peace, I don't need your pity."

Tanner ignored the remark and walked over to the en suite bathroom.

"I'll fuck off once I've made sure your wounds haven't gone septic. I'll run you a bath and then we'll have a look at you. No offense, James, but I can smell you from over here."

Bond sighed deeply. Bill was like the faithful dog that always came back however hard you beat it.

"None taken. I can smell your _pussy_ from over here. Do you like it when M fucks it?"

"Sticks and stones, James," said Tanner, unfazed by the insults, and disappeared in to the bathroom. The sound of the powerful water torrents filling the tub reached Bond's ears, and when it stopped, he heard Bill swishing the water. A bubble bath. How cosy.

"Right, bath's ready," called Bill, and Bond felt weirdly like he was caught up in some surreal kind of domestic role play. No doubt Tanner would make someone a wonderful spouse one day, he certainly fulfilled the dutiful wife role with M. Bond idly wondered how far that relationship might actually go.

When Bond made no attempt to go to the bathroom, Tanner walked back in, and stood over him. He'd removed his jacket and tie, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up above his elbows.

"I really must insist James, if those wounds get infected..." Tanner held out a hand, and Bond rolled over on to his side, facing him.

"Are you a bloody doctor now?" He reached up and took hold of Tanner's hand, and let Bill haul him up off the bed. As his weight bore down on the bullet wound in his leg, he couldn't help but cry out in pain. Tanner said nothing, draping Bond's arm around the back of his own neck and encircling the wounded agent's waist with his other arm, bearing his weight. He walked him slowly through to the bathroom, where sure enough, a huge mound of bubbles awaited Bond in the tub.

"I didn't even know I had bubble bath," observed Bond, more to keep his focus away from the searing pain in his leg than out of curiosity.

"You don't, which is why I brought my own." 

Tanner carefully manoeuvered Bond down onto the closed toilet lid, wincing along with Bond at his moans of pain. Squatting down by Bond's feet, Bill began to unlace the heavy black army boots, ensuring he didn't touch Bond's leg. Sliding them off, he grimaced at the sight of the blood soaked sock clinging to the agent's left foot. He dropped forward on to his knees and reached across for the large bag he'd brought with him.

"What is all that in there?" asked Bond, curious in spite of himself as Tanner rummaged through the contents, and pulled out a pair of latex surgical gloves and a large yellow clinical waste bag.

"Just your basic wound care kit, and my overnight stuff," Tanner snapped on the gloves and removed the offending sock, carefully peeling it away from the skin. He thrust it in to the yellow bag, then removed the sock on Bond's right foot.

"Overnight stuff? You're not staying here, Bill, I'm not a bloody child."

Tanner looked up on him with a weary smile.

"I'm well aware of that, children are easier to control. I'm not leaving you on your own with a bullet wound and God knows what else. Don't be a martyr James. Once I've put you back to bed, I'll go and sleep on the sofa."

Bond looked back at Bill intently.

"It's bloody uncomfortable."

Bill shrugged and rose up on his knees, gesturing for Bond to stand, which he managed to do by supporting himself with both hands on Bill's shoulders. He wobbled momentarily, and Bill put his hands on Bond's hips to steady him.

"Trousers off, then. I'll keep you steady," Tanner looked round at the bath as Bond shakily undid his belt and trousers, Bill's hands automatically helping to get the waistband down before Bond pitched forward unsteadily against him. 

"Whoah there!" exclaimed Bill, looking up at Bond and clutching his now naked hips, gently pushing him back upright.

"Can't have you face planting on to the floor tiles! Get your pants down, then you can sit."

Bond looked down at him with a lopsided grin.

"Is that your best line? No wonder you're still single."

Tanner rolled his eyes before looking away again as Bond pushed the fabric of his underwear down over his thighs. He placed his hands on Bill's shoulders to get some balance, and then carefully lowered himself back down on to the toilet with a hiss.

Tanner looked back at him, careful that his eyes didn't stray to Bond's groin along the way.

"Another injury?" he asked, concern in his voice.

"No," replied Bond with a weary grin. "The bloody lid's cold!"

Tanner smiled and let go of Bond's hips, beginning to ease the trousers and underwear down his legs, taking off the right trouser leg first, leaving the injured leg until last. He began to peel the blood-soaked fabric away from the leg, but Bond made an involuntary noise of pain, so Bill reached in to the bag and rummaged out a pair of scissors, which he used to cut the trousers from ankle to waist, cutting Bond's pants along with them.

"Those were my lucky pants," observed Bond, with a mock wounded look. Tanner sighed and bundled the lot into the yellow bag. He looked at Bond's leg, noting that the entry and exit wounds were only a couple of inches apart. He was lucky it was his calf; if the bullet had hit at the front, it would have shattered his tibia.

"Right, top off next," ordered Bill. Bond grimaced.

"Might need your scissors again, I don't really fancy pulling this about. He held out his right arm, and Tanner slit the sleeve along it's length, his brow furrowing at the weeping burn beneath.

" _Christ_ , James, why didn't you say? M would never have let you go off with no medical if she'd known." 

Tanner helped James take off the shirt, cutting across the shoulder with the scissors so that he didn't have to contort his burnt arm.

"Your blind faith in her conscience is touching," James looked Bill in the eye, holding the gaze for an uncomfortably long moment.

"I'm not blind, James, I know she has very little mercy. But she does care, even if she rarely shows it."

"Spoken like a true battered wife," the sarcasm spilled out with venom, making Tanner pause with helping James out of the left sleeve for a split second. Bond regretted the remark, but the time for apology was past as Bill took the scissors and cut the sweat stained vest from his torso. He was now quite naked.

Tanner stood up, dropping the bloodied scissors in to the sink next to him. He silently helped Bond to stand, and assisted his limping over to the bath. Getting Bond into the tub and sat down was an altogether more difficult affair, as every movement was now causing him pain, and he couldn't put any weight on his burnt arm to lower himself in. But somehow they managed, and soon Bond was sinking beneath the hot water with a moan of pleasure as the heat enveloped his tired, aching limbs, though careful to keep his burnt arm out of the water.

Once he was settled, Tanner picked up his holdall and the yellow bag full of bloodied clothes, and slipped out into Bond's room. James lay with his head back, luxuriating in the blissful tranquility of the bath, enjoying the rich, heady scent of whatever Bill had poured in to it.

Five minutes later, Bill came back in, wearing a white T-shirt and striped cotton pyjama pants. He was still wearing the latex gloves.

"I hope you're not going to just leave me in here all night," remarked Bond, regarding his friend quizzically, the sight of Bill in anything other than a formal suit always threw him.

Bill came and knelt down beside the bath, he had a plump natural sponge in his hand.

"I have a change of shirt and tie, but I'll have to wear that suit again tomorrow. I don't want to get my trousers wet."

Bond watched Bill's face as he reached over in to the bath tub and soaked the sponge, squeezing it and starting to wash it carefully over his chest. The Chief of Staff's expression was one of fixed determination as he made great sweeping circles across Bond's chest, and although he didn't wash the burnt arm, he took hold of Bond's right hand in his and carefully washed it, paying attention to cleaning between his fingers.

Bond couldn't help smiling. Although M was the higher authority, Tanner was effectively his line manager, and here he was, on his knees, in his pyjamas, bathing a double-O agent like a child.

"If I ask you to marry me, will you do this for me every night?"

Tanner began scrubbing Bond's left arm, a shy grin creeping across his face. 

"Sorry, James, I'm married to my work."

"Even better," replied James, his own grin as wide as his face would allow, "we can have a torrid affair."

Tanner laughed at the remark, and James noted that Bill was really rather handsome when he let himself express happiness. It was a shame he didn't get to show it more often at work.

With Bond's chest and arms washed, Bill helped him sit forward so he could wash his back. It felt ridiculously comforting to feel the soft sponge sweeping across the strained muscles. When it was done, Bill rubbed the sponge over Bond's closely shaved hair, then massaged his scalp for a few moments before squeezing the sponge over his head.

"If this is torrid," said Bill, swishing the sponge in the water, before squeezing it out and carefully washing Bond's face, "then I'd hate to experience dull."

Bond grinned. "Dull would be you ironing my underwear."

Tanner swept the sponge under Bond's chin.

"Which reminds me, I need to iron my clean shirt before we go to bed. Please tell me you have an iron, James."

Bond shrugged. "I have a woman who comes in to take care of the domestics, I come home to everything neatly stowed in the wardrobe. She could use magic for all I know."

Tanner tutted, and shuffled on his knees to the other end of the bath, and began carefully washing Bond's feet.

"You really are the playboy, aren't you? Do you ever do anything for yourself?"

Bond eyed him thoughtfully.

"Not when my Chief of Staff is willing to get on his knees and wash between my toes, no."

Tanner looked round at him with raised eyebrows, his hand moving up Bond's leg.

"Is that so? Well _I'm_ only going as far as your knees, the stuff in the middle you can tend to yourself."

" _Tease_ ," remarked Bond, holding Tanner's gaze with a dark, unreadable look.

" _Slut_ ," replied Tanner, emphasising the 'l' visibly with his tongue. He stood up and dropped the sponge in Bond's lap.

"Call me when you're done, I'm going to iron my shirt."

"I'm not sure I can manage with my left hand," James looked up at Bill, a trace of hurt in his eyes. Bill stared back, unmoved.

"I'm willing to help James, but you're on your own with that erection."

James looked down to see that the tip of his cock was peeping through the mound of bubbles in his lap. He used his left hand to scoop some of the foam over it.

"Apparently using your other hand makes it feel like it's someone else," said Bill, turning to walk out of the bathroom.

"Are you speaking from experience?" asked James, causing Bill to look back at him indignantly.

"I'm not discussing my wanking habits, James."

Bond grinned triumphantly. "So you do it then?"

Bill shot him a withering stare and stepped out of the room. "I'll come back when you've either dealt with it, or it's subsided, whichever comes first."

Bond's grin widened even further at Bill's choice of words, and lay back in the bath, his left hand on his cock. He gave it a long stroke, but it felt awkward in his other hand. He couldn't imagine using it to find the practiced rhythm and set of strokes he could use to quickly rid himself of an unwanted hard-on out in the field. He tugged on himself again, but it felt odd and clumsy. He'd not even really noticed the erection forming, he'd been enjoying Bill's ministrations, but he hadn't thought of it in a sexual way. Until now. 

James let out a grunt of anger. His cock bobbed in the water, taunting him. His left-handed strokes had only served to tighten it further, and he was tired, far too tired to put in the effort required to find a quick release, and there was no way he could put his right arm in the water, the pain of it had become tolerable, but he knew if he moved it down in to the heat of the bath, it would become agony. He contemplated turning over and kneeling, but he wasn't sure he could manage without falling in face first and drowning.

He tried to muster some softening thoughts, but his body was stubborn and seemed to sexualise everything that came to mind. Even the Full English breakfast he tried to visualize was accompanied by a vision of Bill in an apron and nothing else. That thought startled him: since when did he have sexual fantasies about Tanner? Bond was heterosexual, but if needs must, he'd seduce men to get information, it was a misguided world that assumed all enemies were straight.

There was no mistaking Tanner was a man, and Bond had no reason to think he was gay. It was probably the compassion that his exhausted body and mind were clinging to. It would have been wonderful to have a woman provide the same gentle care for him, to bathe him, dress his wounds, then later help him in to bed and sleep beside him, curled around him. Simple human comforts that had been abandoned in that desolate hell-hole where that American agent had died.

Even M would have been welcome if she'd come to him with the same kindness. But that would never have happened, she may have run a bath, she'd never have got on her knees to wash his hair, she'd have told him he was a grown man who could bloody well manage. But then he probably wouldn't have let her try if she'd wanted to. He had his pride.

Suddenly, the idea that Tanner had taken it upon himself to throw a bag together and come here to look after him made Bond's eyes burn with tears. His brain was a mess, he wanted to come, he wanted to sleep, he wanted Tanner to come back and be sweet to him again.

 _Sweet_.

James blinked the tears away, and choked out a half-laugh. He could think of no better word. It was _sweet_ of Bill to come here and play nursemaid. Bond suddenly missed him desperately.

His traitorous cock was still throbbing below the water when Bill returned to the bathroom, _still_ wearing those bloody awful latex gloves. Bond wondered if he looked as desperate and miserable to Bill as he suddenly felt.

"It's still there, isn't it?" asked Bill with a sigh. Bond nodded, feeling desolate under Bill's sympathetic gaze. Tanner chewed his lip in contemplation before walking over and kneeling down beside the bath. Bond sat back up again and turned to face Bill, the hot sting of tears in his eyes once more. Tanner carefully peeled off the latex gloves, dropping them on the floor, and leaned over the bath, putting his right arm around Bond, and carefully dipping his left in to the water, where his fingers made contact with Bond's erection.

As Tanner's hand closed around the shaft, Bond let out a sob and threw his arms around Bill's neck, the pain in his burn no match for the pain in his soul. He dripped water down the back of Bill's T-shirt, his body shaking with painful sobs as all the fear, desperation and regret of Korea flooded back and overwhelmed him. He clung to Bill, fisting handfuls of the damp cotton on his shoulders, eyes tight shut as he coughed out the sobs, Tanner's hand firmly but gently pulling along his cock in the wet warmth of the bath.

In the end, it didn't take much to send Bond over the edge, and he soon came in Bill's hand, the spurts punctuated with whimpers, as James held tightly to his friend. His best friend. His carer, his protector, the one person he could rely on, the only one who had seen how much he was hurting in every way, and come to his aid.

Bill gently stroked Bond through the aftershocks, slowly bringing him down, before releasing the shrinking organ. He brought his hand up to join its fellow around James, holding him tight, stroking and kissing his hair, in the way he might comfort a child.

When finally they reluctantly untangled themselves from each other's embrace, the water had grown almost cold.


End file.
